White Noise

111 days ago a bomb was put in place, timed to detonate 72 days later. Many, many days of hand wringing and desperate hope followed that somehow, someway, this potentially massively destructive device could be defused, rendered impotent. The bomb was a known threat, after all, clearly identified as such months and months before. There was an ongoing assumption by a large segment of the general public that this threat would be prevented from ever detonating since, obviously, it would be a literal act of insanity to not do so. But the months went by, the bomb kept looming larger, being observed day by day, but remarkably not being obstructed. It somehow kept gaining momentum as it advanced upon one and all, with some people becoming mesmerized by it, becoming psychologically drawn toward it, convinced it wasn’t really a threat to everyone, just those who dared get in its way. The bomb even began to be LIKED by many. Identified with by many. And when the day of reckoning came about for either the defusing or the putting-in-place of this wildly dangerous force, the bomb was embraced by its converted followers, while at the same time, those who tried to stop it lacked sufficient numbers to destroy it, once and for good. Those who tried to obstruct it, armed with iron-clad logic and reasoning, assumed they had enough back-up to overpower this threat. Unfortunately, too many others sat back, either deluded into thinking that of course the bomb will be taken care of–just wait and see–while others had convinced themselves that it was much ado about nothing, that whatever this “thing” that was being incessantly observed was, didn’t matter. Seeing may be believing, but if someone refuses to even look, they are free to not be bothered with concern of what they chose to ignore. The consequences be damned.

But on that 72nd day, the bomb, as planned, detonated. Sensibly many people stayed away from the blast site, but gathered in the wake of its explosion the following day to protest the disturbing event. Seemingly, more people are now stepping up and demanding…

…what?

…That this bomb now be obstructed? Gotten rid of? Made to become a different, more benevolent bomb? That they will resist and reverse reality? Only if someone can build a time machine and go back, back before November 8th, 2016, and wake up the sheep and saps, those who bear great responsibility for the bomb’s current fallout, now a steady and unrelenting type of background radiation, a buzzing, humming, whirring white noise.

There will be many, many, many more daze of this white noise before it can possibly be stopped. Or maybe there will be an implosion and the air will duly clear away the toxic radiation, sooner than later. If not an implosion, then awaken the ballot-box sheep, slap some sense into the bomb’s converts, at least those that, all of 39 days out from the blast, haven’t realized that they really aren’t immune from its radiation either.

One way or another, it’s a little over 600 days until the November, 2018 mid-term elections. When November 6th of that year rolls around, you who protest current reality, make it very clear what you are not just demanding what happens, but assuring that it will. If not, then either get used to it or find your own personal white noise to block out the current, pervasive white noise that never, ever, should have been allowed to explode and fill the air in the first place.

Ear buds. Surgical masks. As always, to the ramparts…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About jharrin4

mass communication/speech instructor at College of DuPage and Triton College in suburban Chicago. Army veteran of the Viet Nam era.
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One Response to White Noise

  1. A poet once famously wrote of how humankind differs from other mammals etc because those animals live the arc of life and its inexorable march toward death unwittingly. In contrast, humankind in his view lives that arc facing and fearing the impossibility of escaping hardship, aging, death etc. Our citizenry now seems to have the comfort of non homo sapiens animals as perceived by the poet — blissfully ignorant and preoccupied by shiny objects — like the screw up or prank ( to distract the public) — at the Oscars until in the throes of suffering.

    Like

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